“He left a few days ago, just before Asmodeus returned from a visit elsewhere, or at least that’s what we assume. We had dragons watching, but he escaped our surveillance and went to ground somewhere.” Kostya gave a little one-shouldered shrug. “We do not know where.”
“Which of course makes it infinitely more difficult to find a talisman. If only I’d known this before—” Bee stopped, and shook her head at her own statement. “Ignore that. I said let’s not beat that dead horse, and I won’t.”
“Speaking of your ghostly ways,” Kostya said, giving Constantine a gimlet eye, “why are you still here? You usually fade away to nothing the second you are wanted.”
Constantine dragged his mind from the blackness that consumed it, and glared at his godson. “You forget yourself, Konstantin Nikolai Fekete. More, you forget to whom you speak.”
“I speak to the traitor who is responsible for the deaths of hundreds of dragons.”
Bee shot him a startled look. He ignored it, focusing his ire on the upstart before him. “I do not have time to teach your place, nor the true facts of what happened all those centuries ago. There are other things more important than you that I must accomplish in order to save all dragonkin.”
“That’s right,” Bee said, nodding her head and surreptitiously taking his hand. He was startled by the contact, not just because she initiated it despite her stated dislike of dragons, but because the touch set the fire smoldering inside him to a blaze. No woman had done that since he had lost Ysolde. “We have more important things to do, like finding Bael, and stealing a talisman from him. I guess we’d better get started on that. Where was Bael last seen?”
“Here in Paris,” Kostya answered somewhat sulkily.
“Excellent. Then we can get started right away on the job. We can start at the Paris entrance to Asmodeus’s palace, and try to resurrect a trail for him. Sound good, Constantine?”
“No,” he answered, and without another word, he released Bee’s hand, picked up Gary, and strode out of the G&T.
Eight
“Constantine!”
The voice that chased him was full of disbelief and frustration. He knew both sensations well. He’d lived with them for most of his life. Both lives.
“I think Bee wants you, Connie,” Gary said helpfully, looking out of the back of the cage. A woman they passed on the street gasped, stumbled, and toppled forward in a faint. “Goodness. Woman down! Maybe you should stop and help her.”
“Constantine, where are you going? Why did you just walk out like that?” Bee’s voice was breathless as she hurried after them.
“That’s definitely Bee,” Gary said, squinting against the sun. He turned when they approached a couple of teenage girls, making a movement that could be interpreted as a bow, and said politely, “Bonjour, desmoiselles.”
The girls didn’t bat an eyelash at him.
“Constantine! For the love… pardon me, madam, I didn’t mean to step on your hand. Did you fall? Here, let me help you up, and then I really must dash…”
Bee’s voice grew fainter as Constantine marched onward, pausing only when he came to a street corner.
“This is fun,” Gary chirped, smiling at everyone on the street. “It’s been forever since I was out of Abaddon. Paris has changed so much since I was alive. Oooh, a boulangerie! I would murder for a fresh croissant. I don’t suppose you’re a bit peckish? Bonjour, monsieur et madam. Bonjour, bonjour, everyone!”
Constantine walked on, dark thoughts tormenting him, followed by various gasps, shrieks, and muttered calls for mercy when the patrons of the area caught sight of Gary. Most of them were members of the Otherworld, but Constantine was in such a bleak place mentally and emotionally, he had little empathy to spare the mortals who had no idea that such things as a sentient head existed.
Or rather, he told himself, it was because he had nothing but concern for the mortals that he could spare no time in hiding Gary from them.
“Criminy beans!” Bee burst out as she reached him, panting slightly, and grabbed his sleeve so that he faced her. Her eyes, a bright shade of gray-moss in the Paris sun, were full of questions. “What is wrong with you? Why are you letting everyone see Gary? And more important, why did you leave? Is something the matter? I know you’re pissed because Kostya keeps harping at you about some old history—”
“No,” he said simply, and lifted her hand from his sleeve. He looked at her fingers for a moment, then bent slightly and pressed his lips to them before dropping her hand and continuing down the street.
“Ooooh,” Gary said, blowing a low whistle. “She doesn’t like that, Connie. I think she’s swearing. Whoops, here she comes. Act casual.”
“Now you just listen here, Mr. Bigshot Dragon!” Bee grabbed Constantine’s arm again and dug in her heels. Behind her, a woman stepped out of a small shop, and fell over with a squawk at the sight of Gary. “I don’t know what bee got in your butt—and by bee, I don’t mean me, because that would be just really unacceptable, not that your butt isn’t nice-looking and all—never mind, not going there. I don’t know what has upset you to the point where you just say the word ‘No!’ and then stomp off, but I do know that it’s not going to fly. What is wrong?”
Constantine thought about simply walking away from her, but there was something in her eyes that kept him in place. She tried hard to give the impression that she disliked him, but he had seen the softness in her face when she looked at the scars on his chest, and felt the heat of her mouth as it welcomed his. True, she said later she hadn’t been welcoming him, but he had a feeling he could change her mind on that point. The idea that he might do such a thing was startling in itself; although he told himself that his heart would ever be true to Ysolde, he had to admit that his body hadn’t any such conviction.
The sound of screeching metal, followed by a screams, a car horn, and ultimately, cursing, drove him into looking around for a safe haven. He spied a shop that looked likely and hustled Bee into it.
A middle-aged woman looked up from a long wooden counter. At her feet, an elderly Welsh corgi slept, snoring slightly. “Bonjour,” the woman said.
“Good day.” Constantine set Gary on the counter. The air inside the shop was slightly scented with elements of decades past, tiny little motes dancing in the sun that streamed through the window. “Would you watch Gary for a few minutes? He is causing a disturbance on the street. I can pay you.”
The woman blinked, her eyes widening at the sight of the battered cage and its contents.
“Bonjour!” Gary chirped, looking around with interest. “Oooh, are you an apothecary? How exciting! I’ve always loved visiting them, although as a knocker, I never got to cast spells or do anything that needed to use the things you carry. Hello, doggy! What’s his name?”
“Her name is Cecile,” the woman said, giving Constantine a thoughtful look. “It is not often that I have dragons visit. You are not a member of the green sept, I believe?”
“No. I am Constantine, wyvern of the silver dragons,” he answered with a bow.
“Formerly the wyvern. Now he’s a big pain in the ass,” Bee said, giving him a scowl that he supposed was meant to intimidate. “I’m Bee Dakar, by the way. I think we met some time ago at a party the Venediger gave—your name is Emily?”
“Amalie,” the woman corrected, and with her mouth half pursed, waved to a corner where a couple of well-worn armchairs sat around a small round table. “You do not need to pay me to watch your… friend. Cecile and I will be happy to keep him company if you wish to sit in the reading corner.”
“Awesome!” Gary beamed at her. “My name is Gary, as Constantine said. Well, it’s Gareth, really, but no one seems to remember that, and all the demons call me Gary…”
Constantine took Bee’s arm and escorted her to the secluded section of the shop. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases that contained few books, but a vast quantity of old-fashioned glass jars of all shapes and sizes. Each bore a label with
enticing names like cat’s tongues, lilywort, and virgin’s blood. Outside, the sounds of the city were muffled and distant, giving Constantine the feeling of seclusion.
“If only it would last,” he muttered to himself.
“If what would last?”
“Sanity.” He held on to the back of the nearest chair, being prepared to do the gentlemanly thing and seat her first (Georgette Heyer was very strong on male characters following such standards), which is why he was so surprised when, rather than sitting as he expected, Bee leaned into him and lightly pressed her lips to his.
“Was that supposed to be a kiss?” he asked when she pulled back.
The self-satisfied look on her face faded to one of annoyance. “It was very much a kiss, yes. It was supposed to be a comforting gesture since you are obviously distressed about something, but now I take it back. Oafs like you don’t need comforting!”
“I am a wyvern, not an oaf. And wyverns enjoy being kissed, but only when it’s done properly.”
Bee opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, clearly outraged. “My kiss was just fine!”
“It wasn’t. It was a mere pressing of lips. There was no passion, no heat, no teasing of the mouth, no whispered promises of pleasure, no hint of the sweet joy that lies within. And then there was the way you leaned forward to do it, ensuring that no other part of your body touched mine. A kiss is more involved—”
“Criminy beans, don’t you ever shut up?”
“I assumed you wished to know what elements of your kiss were lacking—”
Bee swore and grabbed Constantine’s head with both hands, pulling him forward even as she lunged against him, her belly pressed against his, her hips cradling him in way that would ensure he’d walk funny for at least a half hour. Her mouth took possession of his, a startling change of role that at first shocked him, and then immediately switched to approval when her tongue twined around his. He allowed her to taste him, to tease his tongue and lips, his hands sliding down her back until he held her bottom, pulling her even tighter.
She moaned into his mouth, tugging on his hair in a way that made his eyes cross. His fire, that part of him that seemed as natural as breathing, roared to life beneath the taste and scent and feel of her, and filled every part of his being.
“Fire,” she murmured into his mouth, then suddenly shrieked and pushed him back, slapping at her legs.
Constantine, who had been greatly enjoying the kiss, frowned at the little dance she was doing. Yes, his fire was burning up her legs, but since she hadn’t complained when he breathed a little fire on her earlier, he assumed she was capable of taking the full brunt of his passion.
Passion, he pointed out to himself, that she had stirred.
“For goodness sake, do something!” Bee demanded, still slapping at her legs.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“Not yet, but I’m on fire! Are you blind? Or do you just not care?”
With a flicker of his eyes, he damped his fire, effectively extinguishing the flames circling her. He stood with his hands on his hips, considering her as she muttered to herself while examining the material of her jeans. “You are a woman of many contradictions.”
“Yeah, well, you’re none too stable yourself. One minute you’re looking like someone killed your favorite pet, and the next you’re lecturing me about the proper way to kiss.”
The heavy burden of reality settled back around his shoulders, threatening to press him into the ground.
“See? You’re doing it again,” Bee said, straightening up to glare at him. “What is going on, Constantine? Why are you behaving this way? I thought you wanted to help the dragons get rid of the curse.”
He thought of many answers to that last question, of the cost of what she asked of him, and his heart sobbed.
“Give me a break,” Bee grumbled, and then with a martyred sigh, she wrapped her arms around Constantine, saying into his neck, “Tell mama what’s wrong.”
He started to laugh at that; he just couldn’t help it. The confluence of his raging erection from the kiss joined with her motherly attempt at comforting was too much for him. He gave her a squeeze, pressed a none-too-innocent kiss to the top of her head, and with a brief but enjoyable fondle of her bottom, released her.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair.
She sat. Amalie was busy entertaining Gary at the front desk, and quite obviously not looking in their direction. Constantine took the armchair opposite Bee, and said simply, “I can’t help you with Bael.”
“Is that what’s causing the problem? Then don’t worry. I’ll get a talisman from him myself—”
“No,” he interrupted, trying to pick out what he could tell her, and what he did not wish revealed. “You cannot. He will destroy you.”
Bee held up a hand for a moment before dropping it. “Look, we’ve had this conversation before, and yes, I know that Asmodeus caught me when I tried to get his talisman—really, Aoife has a lot to answer for in not bothering to keep me up to date about the major players in this little drama—but that doesn’t mean that Bael will do the same. I’ve learned my lesson, there, and will be extremely careful.”
“He will kill you nonetheless.” Constantine was suddenly weary, the sort of weary that built up over centuries of time. He leaned back in the chair, gesturing limply at nothing. “Asmodeus is an amateur compared to Bael. If he even thought you had the idea of trespassing on his private domain, he’d destroy you. There is no leniency in him, no shades of gray, nothing but black and white absolutes.”
Bee tipped her head to the side and gave him a long look. “That sounds like you know him.”
“I do.” His gut twisted painfully.
“How well?”
He hesitated. “Well enough to know that if Bael is the creator of the curse that blights the dragonkin, then it is a curse we will suffer under to the end of days.”
“Now who’s being overly dramatic?” Bee stopped him in mid-protest. “That wasn’t meant to be an insult. But that said, he was overthrown and cast into Abaddon, so he’s not invincible. And even if he were, we aren’t trying to get rid of him, we’re just trying to break his curse.”
For a few minutes, Constantine was tempted by Bee’s spirit to be the hero she clearly needed. She was so positive, so convinced that what they faced was a simple matter of taking one little item from Bael, that he considered going against his common sense and casting in his lot with her.
But then he remembered the last time he had crossed Bael, and the cost of such a folly. “No,” he said, rising, giving her a long, steady look to let her know he wasn’t going to be swayed. “What you ask is impossible.”
He started to leave, pausing when Bee spat one word out at him.
“Coward.”
He turned slowly, the word crawling across his flesh, burrowing down deep into his psyche, and echoing in his head.
He was a coward. At least, that was the word that Bael had last flung at him. He’d wanted to kill Bael at the time, but Bee was not a demon lord. She didn’t even anger him with that accusation, because he knew that were he in her place, he’d do the same.
If only she knew the truth… he wavered for a moment, wanting to bare his soul to her, wishing with a desire that startled him with its intensity that Bee were his mate. If she were, then she would stand by him, no matter what dark secrets he harbored.
He watched her for a moment, the yearning so strong it stung the backs of his eyes. Bee’s eyes glittered angrily. He simply shook his head and said, “If it is cowardly to wish to avoid wholesale death and destruction of both the mortal and immortal worlds, then I accept the name.”
“Constantine, wait. I didn’t mean that. I’m just frustrated—”
He collected Gary, thanked Amalie, and left the shop before Bee could do more than to splutter a few angry words.
Nine
“I can’t believe he just walked out on me.” I stood staring at the door of Amalie’s s
hop, half expecting that Constantine would reappear, an apology on his really delicious lips. I stomped my foot before I realized I was doing it. “And he took Gary!”
“He is a dragon and a wyvern,” Amalie said, giving me a shuttered look. Her face was placid, as mild as the tone of her voice, giving me no clue to what she really thought. “They do as they please, do they not?”
“Yes, but we’re supposed to be working together.” I was suddenly struck by the question of just what point in time my job had gone from a solo endeavor to one where I was dependent on Constantine. “Dammit, I don’t need him.”
Amalie’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the two conflicting statements.
“Sorry,” I said, gesturing toward the door. “It’s… he’s… the whole thing is complicated.”
“I see.” She bent over to pat the fat Welsh corgi who snored in a fleece dog bed. “I rather imagine it would be difficult to be a wyvern’s mate. I have known only one other, and she had a very hard time accepting it. I believe it took her some time before she welcomed the role.”
“Mate? Oh no, I’m not Constantine’s mate. We’re not even dating! We were just thrown together in the process of a commission I accepted, and since we had a common goal, I assumed he’d stick around to see it finished.” I gave the door a bitter look. “Clearly, I was mistaken in my judgment of his character. The big toad.”
“I could not help but notice your activities earlier,” Amalie said without meeting my gaze. She scratched behind the dog’s ears. “I do not know of anyone, especially a mortal, who can take a dragon’s fire without being injured.”
“I can’t,” I said, holding out my wrist so she could see the scar. “I used to date a dragon, and that was the result of a little fire play.”
“Your legs were surrounded by dragon fire just a few minutes ago,” she pointed out with a gentleness that for some reason irritated me.
“Yes, but that’s different. Constantine was being all sexy-man, and it got away from him. My legs were protected by my jeans, and he put it out before it could do more than singe the fabric, whereas the time that Ben Fong—a red dragon I dated for a while before I learned my lesson about dragons—the time that Ben slipped a little with the fire thing, it burned my bare hand.”
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